Archives for February 2018

By Erica Fleming

As an instructor of Business Writing, I face a daunting task at the beginning of every semester: how can I get my students to “buy in” to the importance of my class content? Can I convince them that my class is worthy of its designation as a General Education Requirement? And most importantly, how can I tailor my class to make it relevant to the way writing is performed in today’s business world? Anyone who regularly teaches Smeal students understands the necessity of addressing these issues in the Business Writing classroom.

These questions led me to reconsider the teaching approaches I use in this particular class. At the Teaching and Learning with Technology (TLT) Symposium last March (2017), I attended a presentation by faculty who had participated in the BlendLT (Learning Transformation) program: a series of workshops to help faculty apply a “blended” (a.k.a hybrid) structure to their courses. This idea of a blended classroom fascinated me, and I immediately began to imagine ways that I could implement some of these techniques into my Business Writing classroom.

A blended course is one in which some percentage of a residential class – anywhere between 25%-75% of the course content – is taken out of the classroom and performed online instead. This idea initially terrified me, as I had not previously felt confident when teaching online classes.

However, I recognized benefits of this approach that were uniquely suited to my Business Writing students: my class is meant to prepare them for the writing they will inevitably do in the business world. A large percentage of the writing, reviewing, and collaborating they will do professionally is currently done online; companies may require online training; they may be asked to review the work of their peers (everything from 360 degree performance reviews to team-based projects to a co-worker asking for an opinion on a current project); they may even work entirely remotely with domestic or international offices (via video- or tele-conference, or even simply working from home and communicating via phone, email, or text).

As a result of these trends in the business world, I wanted to find a way to structure my class to mimic the modern workplace. This would force my students to work more independently than they are used to in a residential college classroom, but also allow them the freedom to work at their own pace while still meeting deadlines.

After speaking with Gregg Rogers and Bob Burkholder about the workshop and its possibilities, I applied to the BlendLT program and was ultimately accepted. I attended six workshops (two in person, four as video conferences via Zoom) with the team at TLT. During those workshops I learned about the techniques, pedagogy, and research involved in creating a blended class environment. I took the rest of the summer to completely overhaul my course for fall, with a lot of help from an instructional designer in the College of the Liberal Arts (Jessie Driver was a dream to work with, and if you ever have the opportunity to collaborate with someone in the Office of Digital Pedagogy and Scholarship, jump at the chance!).

I decided to change about a third of my class to online content. This meant that for one out of the three classes in a M-W-F schedule, we didn’t actually meet in the classroom. Instead, students were required to work independently on 50 minutes of previously in-class work. I spent much of my summer researching: learning how to take some of my in-class material and not only make it function online, but also be more effective for my students in the online format. My new online content included online lecture videos (filmed prior to the start of the semester – I filmed 16 short videos), online peer review, and other various types of online group work and discussion forums.

The response from my students was almost entirely positive, as evidenced by great feedback on mid- and end-of-semester surveys as well as the highest SRTE’s I have ever received. Students loved the added flexibility of the online coursework, but also mentioned that they enjoyed the in-class time more because we focused entirely on class discussion and active learning rather than passive lectures or working individually on peer reviews.

I also noticed considerably more in-depth and thoughtful peer review comments when the stress of providing feedback face-to-face was removed. Students commented on surveys that they felt less rushed to complete the peer reviews, and that they could be more honest about their suggestions in this online format.

However, this process was not without its challenges. My instructions had to be completely understandable and transparent for online class days, and when they weren’t clear (which happened twice over the course of the semester), I spent a ton of time answering questions via email and finding ways to revise those assignments. In addition, reading through and grading the online peer reviews was far more work than I anticipated.

As I continue to revise and refine my blended course this spring, I have reorganized my schedule so that the online day falls at the same time every week. This avoids confusion concerning the in-class day, and provides some structure and stability that was missing last semester. I revisited all of my assignments and online instructions to ensure clarity and concision, and also incorporated some of the constructive feedback I received from students.

Adapting my course material to a blended format was an incredibly rewarding process. It was (and continues to be) a lot of work, but has been worth it due to both the positive reactions from my students as well as evidence of their improved engagement and performance. This year, the College of the Liberal Arts decided to create their own BlendDLA (Digital Liberal Arts) workshops during Maymester 2018, and I am helping to design and facilitate this new project. In addition, I will be presenting on both my course and adapting a blended format for courses across the university at the TLT Symposium on March 17.

What started as a vague notion to increase the applicability of my course turned into an incredible opportunity for professional development. This blended format allows me to do what I love in the classroom while incorporating proven strategies from online classes. As I continue to work on my class, I look forward to discovering new ways to help my students become better writers in their fields.

 The Central PA Theatre and Dance Festival, presented by Tempest Productions, will sponsor a playwriting competition as part of the Festival’s inaugural year. Writers of all ages and experience levels are invited to submit their previously unproduced, original works for consideration. The winning entries will receive certificates and be performed as readings during the Festival, June 22-24 2018.

The event includes categories for both One Acts and Short Plays.

One-Act Category entries should have a performance time of no less than 30 minutes and no more than 45 minutes. Short Play Category entries should have a performance time of no less than two, and no more than 10 minutes. Plays must be submitted by April 15, 2018. Complete submission requirements, including formatting, are available online at https://centralpatheatre.com/playwriting-festival/

The Central PA Theatre & Dance Festival is a new festival organized by Tempest Productions. Held June 22-24, 2018 at various locations throughout downtown State College, the event will feature over 20 companies performing and producing, as well as workshops, readings, a cosplay competition and more. The event is made possible in part by funding from the Pennsylvania Council on the Arts and a marketing grant from the Center County Convention and Visitor’s Bureau. Up-to-date information on the festival, participating companies, sponsors and schedule is available at www.centralpatheatre.com, or by calling 1.866.248.5091

Overheard in the hallways:

“Nina, where did you just come from?”

“My 602 in Business Writing.”

“Wait–haven’t you taken that already?”

“Oh yes, about three times.”

“Then…why?”

“Because I like to spend time with my people.”

Photo by Alexander Andrews on Unsplash

On the Trail

By Amanda Passmore-Ott

Cliffs of Moher

Ireland, County Clare

July 2017

Author’s Note:

One of the reasons I started this work-life balance column was because many colleagues are intrigued by my “second” life of music and hiking. Honestly, I’m just the least academic Academic I know. Obviously, I write, but not on a regular basis (no rising with the dawn every morning to get my hour of writing in before the day begins); I haven’t been to a conference in years; and I haven’t really written critically, aside from student feedback on essay drafts, in even longer. I do, however, hike every weekend that I can and I am a working musician as fiddler in the Celtic Rock band, Full Kilt (https://fullkilt.weebly.com/). Our band has been together now for 11 years and we were lucky enough to go on a mini tour in Ireland over this past summer…we even took 80 people (two busloads) with us through Epic Journeys LLC based out of Johnstown, PA. Although we were there as both hosts and performers, I had to find time for some hiking. I was able to hike quite a bit in our “down time” (often missing meals to get my hike on!): urban hiking in Dublin (about 8-9 miles), a small hike at Malin Head (about 1 mile), and two longer hikes on the Red Trail near Giant’s Causeway and the cliff top trail at Cliffs of Moher (each about 5 miles). For the sake of this column, I limited this edition to just the Cliffs of Moher as the most iconic trail/landmark (but I did add in a few photos of the other trails/hikes to make up for the lack of verbiage).

***

One might expect such an iconic tourist landmark as Cliffs of Moher to echo the tourist traps of America: brazen billboards every 100 yards saying “Cliffs of Moher 1 mile ahead on the left” and counting down, kitschy leprechauns peeking out behind fences and boulders, and a gaudy, sprawling gift shop of souvenirs with neon signage (okay, there is a souvenir shop and visitor center; however, it is actually built into the hillside to resemble an ancient large burial mound and blends in with surrounding “rolling hills of green and fences made of stone.”).  The road in feels much as any other backcountry road throughout Ireland: narrow, often hemmed in by stone fenced fields of spray-painted sheep (the farmers mark their sheep to identify them as their own), and sweeping vistas dotted with quaint farmsteads and cottages. Not until the buses pull into the parking area does one realize the popularity of these Irish sea cliffs. As 80 people descend the bus steps and make their way either to the visitor center or Brian Boru’s tower and paved overlook, my eyes are drawn to the right where the trailhead begins, and further to where most people stop and turn back—beyond is where my booted feet would carry me (if you’ve been reading these columns for a while, you might notice that I have an aversion to crowds and hike for the solitude; in fact, our Irish tour folks would often joke how I rarely took a photo with a person, aside from myself, in frame).

Before the cliff trailhead, I paused along the stone wall overlooking the popular photo-op of a cleft cave carved from the relentless bombardment of waves against a fault in the cliff face. One might recognize this cave entrance from the Harry Potter movie, The Half Blood Prince, when Dumbledore takes Harry to destroy a locket Horcrux. But, I’ve been here before about six years earlier and I only have two hours to complete my hike. The trail head begins to the right if one is looking out to sea, and signs warn hikers of crumbling cliff ledges and to stay on the marked trail (I have already decided I’m breaking that rule, within reason, once I’m beyond the boundaries of the tourist area and there are no longer men in slicker jackets herding folks back down into the sunken gravel trail boxed in by slabs of slate that don’t take advantage of the scenery). In all seriousness, safety is an issue— up to ten people a year lose their footing or deliberately jump from the cliffs edge each year; it is possible to go off trail, but one still needs to use common sense and keep a good 5-10 feet between body and open space as you will not survive a fall. If you are not a seasoned hiker with proper hiking boots, you would do well to stick to the man-made boundaries. I climb the first small rise to the cliff tops and look for an opening on the marked trail where I might climb out and off-trail, which is about 50 feet past where most people stop with families for selfies or a quick picnic lunch. The twin of Brian Boru’s tower is not much more than a fuzzy knob perched on top of the end of the cliffs about 2.4 miles distant. The weather can change within minutes at Cliffs of Moher, which are located in county Clare on the western edge of Ireland and, thus, open to the mercy of the Atlantic. The distant tower is half cloaked in sea mist and in-coming rain clouds. I arrange my scarf over my head and push on, keeping well back from the ledges as the wind starts to steadily gust.

In just 100 feet, the crowd thins out and I only pass the occasional hiker (and not a few cows on the other side of a wire fence to the left). I walk above the marked trail so that I can see in all directions, including down to the base of the cliffs where waves crest and roil and sea foam traces chaotic currents in deceivingly graceful whorls. Crumbling stone columns dot the coast, an echo of where the cliff’s edge once stood. I find myself wondering what old Neolithic ring forts now might lie on the ocean floor; what once watch towers, maybe made of wood rather than stone, stood sentinel on these shores. Although I am on a time schedule, I stop every 25 feet or so to etch this place into my mind’s eye and to snap a few photos. Because I am solo-hiking this trip, I’ve become quite adept at the close selfie while managing to capture at least some of the landscape backdrop. Knee high sea grasses and thick heather crowd the narrow track of dirt as I continue south towards my goal: the second watch tower. At times the trail rises so that the cliffs are no longer visible and gives the illusion of ending where earth meets sky. After one such crest, two slabs of slate lean inwards, creating a sort of gateway before opening up in to a wide expanse of bare dirt and rock dunes.

I find myself cringing at all the man-made cairns/stacked rocks… a sharp reminder that even a landscape formed millennia ago is not immune to the touch of man, as if we can’t help but take something so inherently beautiful and mold it into something of our own making. There are several people in this area and I resist the urge to frantically kick the cairns all down: my “take nothing but pictures and leave nothing but footprints” philosophy fuels this fantasy. I don’t linger here. I seek the illusion of wild places and press past these stone monuments to ego. I round a bend and another rise in the trail and am pleasantly surprised by a small pebbled alcove protected by a slight curve in the cliff face. The ocean doesn’t seem so turbulent here and the water is almost Caribbean in hue. I look back over my shoulder to the now distant tower of Brian Boru: my feet have trekked further than I thought. I check my watch and increase my pace to the second tower looming larger with each step. I am almost jogging at this point in anxiety that I won’t reach it in time before I have to retrace my steps when I’m jolted out of focus by a deep-throated bellow. A heard of cows is only feet from me and the largest just charged the fence, dust kicking up as she skids to a halt and stamps her hoof in irritation. I notice that her belly is large and her udders swollen, but there is no sign of a calf. I’ve often heard a cow in need of a good milking can be quite cranky. I apologize to the herd before the last descent to the tower—I guess I’m not the only one annoyed by close proximity to human activity.

Once again, my feet have taken me further than most venture, and I have this landscape of “forty shades of green” all to myself (and the cows, of course). I take a moment to press myself into the spongy mounds of loam as the first raindrops ping off my cheeks. The visitor center hub and its crowd of tourists are but a nagging thought hidden somewhere beyond the shift of rain veil. A light fog has rolled in to this end of the cliffs and begins to fall over the face like some transient waterfall. Nervous that the trail might disappear into the fog (and me, with it), I decide to head back. I don’t get far when the weather changes again: behind me a cloud bank to rival the fabled mists of Avalon and ahead breaks of sun and dark cloud move as chess pieces across the sky. Maybe it’s the weather, but I’m surprised that I don’t encounter anyone until I’m almost back to the main viewing areas above the parking lot and visitor center: a meandering 2 miles. These sea cliffs are some of the highest in the world and the trail is one of the most breathtaking treks I’ve ever encountered. What draws some feet into a landscape like moths to flame while others stand tethered together like so many flies stuck on film? Maybe one day I’ll trek so far that turning back won’t be an option; today, a nice coddiwomple on the western edge of Ireland will do.

By Judith McKelvey

In the Jan 2018 edition of Scientific American, Michael Shermer writies “For the Love of Science: Combating science denial with science pleasure.”  This sounds sexier than it is. But I really like the results he pulls from two studies done by Asheley Landrum that show how situational skepticism can be, for both Democrats and Republicans. For example, in a 2017 study (“Science Curiosity and Political Information Processing,” published in Advances in Political Psychology), Landrum concludes unsurprisingly that folks on the liberal side of things tend to refuse to read science that might detract even a little from the climate change claim, while strong conservatives refuse to read “climate-concerned” scientific publications. What is uplifting, however, is that she found that on all ends of the spectrum, people who were highly curious, who had “an appetite to be surprised by scientific information,” could hear facts even when they didn’t support their baseline beliefs. I share this with my students and make it our mantra in the social sciences: read and listen with an appetite for surprise.

Meanwhile, in the Jan-Feb 2018 Harvard Business Review, the entire edition is devoted to the concept of business culture. I’m using the whole thing in the new course on grant writing, because awareness of corporate and foundation culture is key to matching missions in the proposal process. But it also works for all classes where there’s a job application element, where we train students to use the rhetoric of persuasion, and strategies for proving their “fit” in order to get hired. In my neurodiversity-themed class, we are using the HBR’s in-depth definitions of culture to better understand what it means to be outside a culture that is pervasive and largely invisible to those who fit into it; and what it means to change it.

Photo by chuttersnap on Unsplash

Associate Teaching Professor Liz Holtzinger has extended her teaching arm by serving as the Creative and Editorial Director of Through Wolf’s Eyes (TWE).

TWE is home to contemporary content for anyone seeking a fresh perspective on aging and inter-generational connection. Writers of the site, many of whom are interns from the College of Liberal Arts and the College of Communications, tackle tough questions and offer readers helpful tips and resources.

TWE Founder and Penn State Alum Greg Wolf writes, “After thirty years of running businesses, my passion is now a business of helping people, mostly older people, realize their potential for a life full of joy, purpose, and relevance.”

Photo by Priss Enriquez on Unsplash